A Certain Slant Of Light
by BatteryDiamond
Summary: Ferard highschool days. :3 Just a one-shot, might turn into something more. I don't know yet. Enjoy!  1,179 words


Shit. Shit shit shit shit. My nose is bleeding all over my face. On my lips, my teeth, ugh. Fucking gross. I'm slumped up against a blue row of lockers, nose throbbing in pain, ribs aching like hell. Chad Mercer doesn't like me very much, I decided. The final bell had already rrung, signifying open season or some shit. Guys like him (douche bags) liked to beat up guys like me (geeks). I look around, reach for my bookbag, and push myself up into a standing position, my chest pleading for me to sit back down and ease tha pain. So I walk down the hallway as gingerly as possible. A short dude appears next to me, holding my elbow as if he's done it a million times before.

"Umm, hi?" I venture a glance his way. He's short. Like, incredibly short. Dark hair. Lip ring that I suddenly want to be against my own mouth.

"You looked like you needed help. I'm Frank. Um, Frankie."

"Gerard. Um, yeah. Hi." I stumbled over my words, remarking inwardly at my "suave" methods (or lack thereof). Frankie simply smiled and continued walking. As we reached the doors, he stopped and turned to face me.

"Want me to walk you home? Um, I don't want those guys to come back, and like. Uh. Beat you up. Again."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure." I grinned like an idiot. Frankie pushed the door and held it for me like a little midget gentleman. As we walked, we talked. Turns out Frankie'd just moved here from Massachusetts. He was a freshman, meaning he was about the same age as Mikey. He liked comics almost as much as me, which was definitely not easy to do, considering my prominent geek-ness. We had come upon my house, pale yellow in the dwindling autumn light.

"Um, do you wanna come in? Are you like, hungry?" Shit. I might as well get a tattoo across my face that reads 'I AM A GIANT FUCKING DOUCHE DO NOT SPEAK TO ME I AM A NEANDERTHAL'.

"Sure." Frankie grinned, hazel-y brown eyes twinkling. Oh, hi. Hi, Frankie's incredibly pretty eyes. You have given me pterodactyls flying around inside my stomach. I open the door, letting Frankie slide past me. He drops his bag by the stairs.

"My bedroom's downstairs. You can go down there, if you like. I'll- do you want coffee?" I asked carefully. His features twisted into a face embodying disgust.

"No thank you. No. just. um. Diet Coke?" he asked, his head above the railing. I nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. I prodded the coffee maker, praying that it'd work; that shit was ancient. I grabbed a diet coke from the fridge for Frankie, and walked downstairs, to find him under my duvet, wrapped up in my Spiderman sheets. He turned and stared at me. I blinked five times.

"hi. Um. Your bed is really comfy." He murmured.

"Oh, yeah. Uh. It's. It's cool," I walked over and sat beside him, setting the can on the nightstand. I layed back, searching my ceiling for the answer to an unasked question. Before I could bring forth that question, the query of Frankie's purpose here, his breathing grew steady. His lips were pressed together, slightly turned up at the corner. Frankie was sleeping. In my bed. I took my phone from the nightstand to text Mikey: "Have a frnd ovr. Pssbl bf? mayb. stay out." I smiled and dropped it to the floor next to my bed. Turning on my side, I stared at Frankie. He shifted a bit, murmuring something incomprehensible. I wanted to be that name on his lips. The one he dreamt about. A shitload of neurons bouncing around in his head, creating a mirror image of myself. But it wasn't. As far as I knew, it was just sleep. Ugh, fuck. He looked so sweet and peaceful. I decided not to wake him- it was Friday, he could go home tomorrow. He stirred again, looked confused for a moment, then scooted closer to me. I was laying there, watching him. Like a total creep.

"Something you'd like to say? You've been staring for like an hour. Your eyes are like fuckin' lasers on my face, dude." He spoke softly, eyes remaining closed.

"I-uh. um. I- sorry. sorry." I stuttered, hoping I didn't sound like a total psycho-rapist or anything like that. When he did open his eyes, he looked up at me and whispered,

"So can I kiss you now?" And he didn't even wait for a reply. He just like, did it. His lips were on mine, crushing my resolve. My hand brushed his hip, his shoulder, his waist. His lips parted, and so began a ballet of tongues. He moved even closer to me, cupping my face with his hand. But then he stopped, and propped himself up on his left elbow.

"So I've seen you around school. A lot. And I know those jock guys give you shit all the time. And, like. I've always felt really bad that no one helps you, I guess? I dunno. Yeah, so when I saw you after school today, I was super pissed for a minute, like. Pissed that they beat you up, I guess. And then I saw you get up and I just walked over there with you, and. Um. I hope that was okay." He explained, chewing the nails of his right hand nervously. I smiled at him.

"Thanks. But. Um, yeah. So." I looked away and picked at the loose strings on the duvet cover. He leaned down and kissed my cheek boldly, and layed back down.

"Tell me about you." he said airily, sighing afterwards.

"What about me?"

"Just… everything. Anything you wanna tell me." And so I did. I told him everything I was thinking about: Mikey and his asthma, this town, the people in it, what I wanted to do with my life. I told him about my dreams, the nightmares that plagued me each night. My musical preferences, sexual preferences, cuisine preferences. My weakness for all things coffee or Mikey-related. When I'd finished, he was snuggled closely into the crook of my neck, breath rolling across my collarbone.

"I love hearing you talk." He breathed against the spot behind my ear.

"Your turn." I grinned. His eyes widened, and he glanced at the clock on my nightstand.

"Shit. Shit. Ohmygod fuck fuckfuckfuck. It's like, 7, dude. My mom is gonna fucking murder me. Prepare for homicide." He leapt off the bed and over towards the stairs. Thinking better of it, apparently, he grabbed my hand, yanking me along with him. He raced up the stairs and slung his bag onto his shoulder. I looked up at him, and this awesome light was seeping in through the kitchen window, perfectly elluminating his features. It was so fucking beautiful, holy shit. He's so fucking beautiful.


End file.
